


Jeux Sans Frontieres

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Revenge, Travel, team-work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody could expect John Watson to easily forget or forgive his suffering at the hands of a gang of international jewel thieves, but even Sherlock didn't see this coming. Sequel to DANGEROUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Square One

**_12.55hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013_ **

John stepped out of the cab and gazed for a moment at the tall Georgian façade that housed the consulting rooms of Jenaya Davies, the therapist that Mycroft had recommended. It had taken a week of nightmares and sleeping with the lights on, a week of feeling cold and damp despite not going out of the flat, just sitting by the fire, or curling himself around the hot water bottle that Mrs Hudson had thoughtfully given him, a week of seeing in both his flatmate and his landlady’s faces that his terrified screams were worrying them, for him to admit he needed to see someone.

At first he considered Ella, but both Sherlock and Mycroft looked horrified at the thought of him going back to her. If he hadn’t felt so low it would have been funny, to see for himself the ‘Holmes Team’ (Greg’s new name for them) at work. Sherlock had ranted about how useless she had been both before John had moved in, and when he’d gone back to her after the faked suicide, but it was Mycroft who sealed her fate.

“Do you really think,” he had asked, “that you should return to the therapist that willingly handed your psychological evaluation over to a complete stranger, along with your session notes?”

So that was that. Mycroft proceeded to recommend this particular therapist, and even managed to arrange for the funding that was still available for Ella to be transferred. John was sure there were no funds left from the army, but by now he was desperate for a night of unbroken sleep, desperate to return to normal.

As he stepped through the door he was struck again by how ‘ordinary’ the place was, the waiting room with its television in one corner and magazines scattered around, and opposite it the nice, matronly lady sitting behind the reception desk. She looked up and smiled as he approached.

“Dr Watson, good to see you again.” She glanced down at her list. “You’re a little early; would you like to take a seat?”

John nodded, an involuntary smile gracing his features, liking that this woman recognised him after only one previous visit, and acknowledging that he should have expected this from someone Mycroft would have hired.

Sitting in an overstuffed but comfortable chair, he watched as the BBC news started, only half listening until

_‘In breaking news, the International jewel thief Solange Dufour was snatched from a prison van while being taken to the Old Bailey for the opening day of her trial. The Group Four security van in which she was travelling was rammed by a white Ford Transit, and the doors forced open by masked gunmen.  One prison officer was seriously injured when one of the attackers opened fire. He was taken to St Thomas’ hospital, as was the driver who was suffering from minor head injuries.’_

There was more to the story, but John was hardly listening. He knew from Sherlock that this was the woman who had ordered his incarceration, without thought to his suffering, in the knowledge that he would die. His friend had hoped that talking about what happened would help, but John’s nightmares had just got worse. He didn’t blame Sherlock for that though, he blamed her.

It wasn’t a conscious decision; John didn’t choose to leave the waiting room, but ten minutes later he found himself staring across the police tape at the two wrecked vehicles. Seeing Lestrade and Donovan talking by the prison van, he stepped back out of their line of sight, blending in with the usual crowd of onlookers that this type of scene attracted. He was close enough to hear two of the officers on the cordon discussing the direction the getaway car had taken.  He stepped back further still when he saw a familiar figure alight from a taxi on the far side of the incident scene, and watched him stalk through the tape towards the senior officers.  Turning his collar up against the biting winds, John turned and melted away into the early afternoon gloom.

O*O*O

**_13.20hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013_ **

“What happened Lestrade?” Sherlock strode through the milling police and forensics officers, his eyes darting around the scene to take everything in.

“It was well planned, Sherlock. Four of them, a driver and three with guns.” He glanced past the consulting detective. “Where’s John?”

“Not here.” Sherlock swept away towards the open rear doors of the prison transport. Lestrade hurried after him.

“I can see he’s not here, where is he?”

“He had a previous engagement, Lestrade, and even if he hadn’t, I don’t think being here would be particularly good for him at the moment, do you?” He crouched down and examined the road directly behind the vehicle, then skittered off to the Ford Transit to repeat the action.

“Who’s on forensics?”

“New bloke,” Greg folded his arms across his chest and frowned at young man as he transferred his attention to the lock on the van’s rear door. “Be nice, Sherlock.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to make a snarky remark, but was interrupted by his phone. Staring at the caller ID he frowned; Mycroft. His thumb hovered over the decline button but something stopped him. Flicking a glance at Lestrade, who was watching him expectantly, he answered the call.

“What do you want?”

“John walked out of Miss Davies’ office before his scheduled appointment.” Mycroft’s crisp tones carried to both men.

“Where did he go?”

“We picked him up on CCTV as soon as we were informed – the receptionist assumed he’d stepped outside for some air, but when he didn’t come back in she alerted Miss Davies…”

“Who in turn alerted you, get on with it Mycroft.” Sherlock snarled impatiently.

“We followed him to the scene of the incident.”

At these words both Sherlock and Lestrade scanned the now thinning crowd but there was no sign of him.

“He left when you arrived, but unfortunately we appear to have lost him.”

“Then try to find him again.” Cutting the connection, Sherlock pushed the speed dial number for John, listening to the phone ring into the generic voicemail message.

Meanwhile Greg hurried over to Sally Donovan, who was talking to the cordon officers.

“Sally, have you seen John?”

“John Watson? No.” She indicated consulting detective who was, at that moment staring in frustration at the floor. “Thought he said he wasn’t here.”

“Apparently he’s been seen on CCTV.” Lestrade watched as Sherlock approached them.

“It was meticulously planned,” he advised the officers, “no use of amateurs this time.” Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he looked back at the scene, a look of extreme concentration on his face.

“What?” Sally asked, following his line of sight.

“Why Sally? Why didn’t they use these people for the original crime?”

“Be thankful they didn’t,” she replied softly, meeting his puzzled gaze steadily. “John may not have survived.”

O*O*O

**_13.35hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013_ **

John stared sightlessly out of the cab window, seeing nothing but darkness, hearing the sounds of crashing, falling rocks, flinching at the sound of rumbling (tanks again?) only to realise it was actually the sound of his new phone, vibrating. He ignored it, shaking himself out of his reverie as the cab slowed to a halt outside Speedy’s Café.

Pulling himself together he paid the fare and climbed out of the vehicle, hurrying across the pavement and unlocking the front door. Minutes later, he was running up the stairs to his bedroom, crossing straight to his chest of drawers and liberating his gun.

As his hand closed around the cold metal, he drew a deep calming breath, consciously making the effort to regulate his heartbeat, to still the tremors in his body, to silence the screaming in his skull.

Slightly calmer, John reached into his wardrobe, to the box where he kept all his old notebooks – glad now that he hadn’t thrown anything away. Upending it onto the bed, he searched through the books, flicking pages, looking at names and dates, until he found the one he was looking for.  Shoving it into the inside pocket of his jacket he stood up, and tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans he turned once more to the chest of drawers. 

Pulling out several changes of clothes and various items he thought might come in handy, he stuffed them into his old army backpack, swinging it over his shoulder as he ran back down the stairs to the living room.

Not sure what exactly he was looking for, his eyes scanned the room, alighting on one particular article that would help with the plan that was forming in his mind. Picking it up, he slipped it in his pocket, then grabbed a pen and piece of paper from the desk and wrote a note to his flatmate.  Folding the paper carefully, he tucked it under the skull. He thought for a moment, then returned to the desk and picked up an envelope. He wrote an address on it and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then walked into the kitchen where he dropped his mobile and keys – he wouldn’t be needing them. After one last look around he turned and headed for the door.

At the bottom of the stairs he turned sharply to his left, moving softly so as not to disturb their landlady. Sliding a hand along the top of the doorframe of the basement flat, 221C, he found the key that Sherlock had left there the day they found Carl Powers’ trainers.

Quietly he locked the door behind him, silently walking through the damp, empty flat, to the door that led out to the small garden. In no time at all he was out and through the back gate, heading out and away from Baker Street.

 


	2. Into Thin Air

**13.45hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

Having gleaned all the information he could from the crime scene, Sherlock stalked towards the cordon tape.

“They’ll be headed for Switzerland Lestrade, get word to all ports, airports, and the channel tunnel – anywhere they might try to get out of the country.”

“Where are you going to go?” Sally asked as he walked away.

“My brother’s surveillance teams picked up John returning to 221B – I’m going back.” He paused and looked back at the two officers. “I admit I’m concerned. John’s been trying to convince all of us, himself included, that he’s getting over his imprisonment, but he wouldn’t even fool Anderson.”

He walked back towards them, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“It’s obvious that his experiences in that cellar and the effects of the sensory deprivation have triggered his PTSD,” he growled in frustration. “This is the last thing he needs.”

Once more he turned, and this time he strode away without another word. Lestrade and Donovan shared a glance, and the Detective Sergeant voiced their shared thought.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

xXx

**14.30hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

Solange Dufour stepped out of the car in a quiet area of Trent Park Country Park, looking around in satisfaction before turning to her rescuers.

“This has been well chosen Gerard, away from prying eyes.”

“We have checked the area well Madam, this is the last place the police will look for you.” Gerard Altermann prided himself on being thorough. He had moved up through the ranks of Dufour’s organisation by proving time after time that he was a capable strategist. 

Now, he hid the smirk that threatened to break out when he thought of the bungling ‘local talent’ that the idiot Anthony Carter had hired to acquire the goods and to keep Sherlock Holmes from interfering. Now was not the time, but soon he would remind the lady that she should have left the planning to him.

Walking at her side, Altermann led his employer to a waiting car, opening the boot and handing her a small overnight bag.

“I took the liberty of bringing you some warm travelling clothes.” He said. “I’m afraid the only place to change will be that toilet block over there, but we’ve made sure they are reasonably clean.”

“You think of everything Gerard.” Madam Dufour was still wearing the totally unsuitable clothes that she had taken to London, designed more to impress than to travel any great distance in winter.

She took the bag and walked towards the old brick building, and as Altermann watched her go he pulled out his phone and sent a text.

_‘Stage one successful. Rendezvous tomorrow evening as planned – GA’_

xXx

**14.10hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

Sherlock burst through the front door and took the stairs two at a time.

“John!” he called as he pushed his way into the flat. “John where are you?”

Not bothering to remove his coat the young man swept through the living room and into the kitchen. He was just about to move on to check John’s room when he caught sight of the items on the table.

Picking up the keys and mobile phone, he weighted them in his hands, thinking, then pulled out his own phone and dialled his brother’s number.

“It would appear he left you a note under the skull.” Mycroft didn’t bother with the niceties of greeting his sibling. “That was about 20 minutes ago.”

Sherlock slid the paper out from under the smooth dry bone.

“I imagine he left by the back door,” he said. “Since you don’t appear to have seen him leave.”

“And there has been no sign of him on any of our cameras. I have alerted Penniston, he’s on his way in now to take over the examination of the CCTV – not just for John, but for our escapee.”

“You think that where she is, he’ll turn up?”

“Don’t you?” Mycroft asked softly. “Let’s hope he has more sense than to try and tackle her on his own.”

“He’s left his phone and keys. I don’t think being sensible is part of the equation anymore.”  Sherlock’s eyes scanned the note. “He’s left me no clues that I’ve found as yet.  Let me know the minute you find him.”

Putting his phone back into his pocket he walked slowly upstairs, mulling over John’s possible whereabouts.

Opening the door to his flatmates room it was obvious that John had packed hurriedly, which meant he had some kind of plan to travel, although that plan would have been hurriedly put together, and therefore would no doubt be flawed.

A brief look round told him that his friend had gone armed, and the scattered notebooks on the bed reinforced the belief that John had decided to hunt down Solange Dufour.

xXx

**14.55hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

Lestrade and Donovan found the consulting detective pacing up and down his living room, muttering under his breath.

He looked up as the two police officers entered.

“Any news of the Dufour woman?” he barked out without ceremony.

“Not yet. We have a nationwide search out for the vehicle; the details have been released to the news agencies so we will have coverage on radio and television.” Greg slumped down on the couch, but the Detective Sergeant remained standing in the doorway.

“Anyway,” He continued, “your brother asked us to meet him here at three o’clock.”

“Is John resting?” Sally asked, her glance flicking up the stairs.

“John is missing – again.” Mycroft’s voice made the two officers jump, but Sherlock merely flung himself into his seat.

“It’s getting to be a bit of a bad habit with him, don’t you think?” the woman observed.

“Sally…”

“Sit down, Miss Donovan.” Mycroft gestured towards the space next to the Inspector on the couch, and then seated himself in John’s chair. “Sherlock, what was in the note he left?”

The younger man shook his head.

“Nothing that will help us,” he handed the single sheet of paper over to his brother. “Just that he has some personal issues to work through – for that read he’s going to try to find Solange Dufour – and that he’ll be back when it’s resolved.”

“On his own? Why hasn’t he asked for your help?” Sally looked genuinely puzzled, her eyes on the consulting detective.

Sherlock stared right back at her, his eyes narrowing as he weighed up what to tell them against just how much they need to know.

“Since he came home from hospital,” he said finally, “John has been having nightmares – worse than that – more like illusions or waking dreams. From what I can gather, at some point during his incarceration he thought I was with him – and that he’d called out to me but I hadn’t replied.”

Thinking for a moment, he added “I don’t think he trusts me.”

xXx

**16.00hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

Signing the register in the Travelodge, Mr and Mrs Gerard Altermann took their key and made their way to their room. Once inside, Altermann laid out a map of the West coast of Europe.

“We have chartered a small sailing vessel, no questions asked, and they will arrive on the estuary at Burnham on Crouch mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

“And we? When do we board?  I want the stench of this country and its filthy prison behind me.” A sneer marred Solange Dufour’s pretty face.

“Soon Madam,” her henchman responded. “The tide turns just before dusk, we will join her then, and be on our way to Blankenberge.”

“They can be trusted?”

“Yes, they need the money, and they shall be well paid – but only once we are safe on our way through Belgium.” He smiled. “For tonight we will eat well – there is a superb restaurant nearby, quiet, discreet and softly lit. You will sleep in comfort, by this time tomorrow you will be on your way home.”

The sneer turned to a smile.

“Excellent!”

xXx

**16.45hrs Thursday 21 st February 2013**

John stepped down off the train and adjusted the backpack slung carelessly on one shoulder, then moving swiftly between the chattering excited crowds he headed for the exit.

Once out in the street he stood for a while, breathing in the cold fresh air, getting his bearings. He was certain that he was safe from Mycroft’s prying cameras, and that alone was a weight off his mind.  With what he had in mind he didn’t want Sherlock trying to get involved.

Checking his watch, he slipped across to a nearby cash machine, put in the card he had picked up at the flat and emptied the account. Shoving the money into his pocket he put the card into the envelope he’d brought with him and posted it back to his friend. 

Next he slipped into a nearby travel agents, purchased a pre-paid currency card, loading it with Euros.   He also bought the ticket for the next leg of his journey, checking the timetable, and choosing to travel on the earliest available ferry.

From there he headed to a phone shop and purchased a pre-pay mobile phone and this he also loaded with plenty of credit.

Now he was ready to move on. As he walked towards the ferry port, he dialled a number in Gutersloh.

“Steve? John Watson.”  He smiled as the voice at the other end roared a complaint that he’d left it long enough to bloody well get in touch.  Cutting into the ripe language that travelled across the airways John added “It’s worse than that mate; I need a favour – a big one!”


	3. Unknown Territory

**21.15hrs Thursday 21st February 2013**

Sitting by the window in the hotel restaurant John stared unseeing at the dark Dunkirk streets. He could have been in any seaside town just about anywhere in the world he mused, as all the streets looked the same. The smell of the salt sea air took him back to his childhood holidays, yet the dark damp atmosphere felt menacing, aroused demons that made the ex-soldier shake with fear.

It took three attempts for the waitress to get his attention, and rather apologetically John ordered the cheapest dish on the menu and a glass of beer.

The food when it arrived might well have been cardboard for all that John really tasted it, automatically forking pasta into his mouth purely because he knew he should eat. And what would Sherlock have said? After all, he spent so much time trying to make his friend….

John shook the thought away. He had spent the two hour crossing staring out over the dark water, shivering, wondering if he had been wrong – wrong to trust Sherlock in the first place – or wrong to think the man had just abandoned him in that dreadful place….his thoughts were no clearer even now.

Staring at his empty glass he felt the adrenaline that had driven him to this place wash away, leaving him tired beyond belief. Paying his bill he wandered through the lobby and up to his room, barely taking the time to arrange an early alarm call before falling exhausted into bed. His last coherent thought was a hope that the nightmares stayed away, if only for tonight.

O*O*O

**05.55hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

In the pre-dawn darkness a silver Ford Kuga rolled quietly up to the gates of Gutersloh army base. Despite the early hour the base was a hive of activity, but still voices were kept low so they wouldn’t disturb sleeping families.

The Sergeant in charge crossed from the gatehouse to the car, and leaning down to talk to the driver, he grinned.

“Hello Ace – your dad know you’re taking his car for a spin this early in the morning?”

Surprisingly wide awake for the time of day, eighteen year old Alexander Edmundson grinned back.

“I get all the good jobs!” He laughed. “Apparently an old army friend of dad’s is doing a bit of a tour of Europe, and as I’ve got nothing better to do for a couple of weeks he’s lent me the car to take him out and about. Gotta meet him from the train.”

“Suppose you’ve got to earn your keep somehow….” Stepping back the Sergeant signalled the man in the gatehouse to open the barriers and waved him on. “Have fun son.”

With a brief and cheeky ‘Thanks Sarge!’ the young man pulled through the gates and drove away, negotiating the narrow streets through the centre of town and heading for the autobahn.

O*O*O

**07.10hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Stiff from a broken night’s sleep and being squashed between to well-fed workers, John stepped carefully from the TGV in Lille, and squinted up at the departures board. His connection was due to leave at 07.30, and he turned and scanned the station, looking for the right platform.

It was easy to lose himself in the crush of commuters, to let himself be swept gently along with the tide of people moving towards the train bound for Aachen, and once on board he found himself a corner seat by a window where he could watch the sun rise.

The gentle motion of the train gradually rocked him to sleep, but it was a short respite. The dreams that had never been far from his subconscious mind started to surround him and intrude on his peace, so much so that when they passed over a set of points the loud clattering jerked him awake again.

Drawing in a deep breath John steadied his heart rate, looking furtively around to see if he had actually yelled out, or if that had been part of his dream. Sitting across from him pretty brunette looked up from her book and smiled, and he smiled back, happy in the knowledge that he had neither disgraced himself nor frightened his fellow passengers – he really didn’t want to call that sort of attention to himself.

Checking the time he saw he had at least another ninety minutes before the train reached Aachen. He decided that falling asleep again was probably a bad idea so he chose instead to make better use of his time. Pulling from his inner pocket the notebook he had retrieved from his wardrobe, John settled back to review everything he knew about Solange Dufour and her diamond merchant business.

O*O*O

**08.30hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

On the Kreuz-Koln interchange, the silver Kuga pulled into a service area, the young driver taking advantage of having made good time to stop and have a coffee and stretch his legs…..

At the same time on the other side of the channel, a police car was pulling into Trent Park Country Park, alerted by local council workers to a car that had been abandoned sometime after lunchtime the previous day. A nationwide alert had gone out to treat all abandoned cars as being possibly connected with the previous day’s escape, so when the call had come in the local force had moved quickly to investigate…..

In Whitehall’s less salubrious offices a dark head was bent over a computer screen, painstakingly cleaning and enhancing CCTV footage, mapping out the direction of travel before looking for the next piece of footage. Unfortunately once the vehicle was on the move the driver managed to find significant amount of camera free road, but Penniston was nothing if not thorough and precise. 

Like a master puzzle maker, he gathered the pieces of the picture until he was able to advise his employer of route the runaways were most likely to have taken.

“You are certain of this?” Mycroft Holmes’ cool gaze swept over the younger man.

“As sure as I can be Mr Holmes; see here, we can follow the car through Central London, then there’s a break where either there are no cameras or the cameras are out of commission,” he paused, and pointed to another screen. “But then you see we pick them up again here, on the A10 heading north from Stoke Newington.”

“I take it you have passed this information to Scotland Yard?”

“Yes Sir, to Detective Inspector Lestrade, along with the make, model, colour and registration of the car, as per your instructions.”

“Good work Penniston.” Mycroft turned and left the room, nodding to his shadow as he left. Anthea immediately send an e-mail from her Blackberry, arranging an immediate increase in the CCTV specialist’s pay grade.

O*O*O

**10.45hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

“John Watson?”

John spun round and looked up into the clear blue-grey eyes.

“And you can only be Alexander!” John smiled, shaking the proffered hand.

“My friends call me Ace or Xander, feel free to make use of either moniker.” The young man relieved John of his backpack and led the way out to the car.

“Ace?” John questioned, keeping pace as they braved the wintery showers.

“Yeah, as a result of having parents with a sense of humour – Alexander Charles Edmundson – ACE.”

John chuckled.

“I’d forgotten that! Could have been worse though…”

“You reckon?”

“Yeah, your dad originally wanted to call you Hamish.”

“Really? What kind of weirdo name is that?” The young man looked horrified.

John choked.

“Oi! Actually that’s your Godfather’s middle name – MY middle name – not such a bad name either…”

If anything, the look of horror intensified as Ace stared at the blond doctor, wondering if he’d overstepped the mark.   The older man walked around to the passenger side of the car and leaned against the door, looking at his Godson.

“…that is of course, if it’s a name you can hide away. Be thankful I persuaded him not to.” John laughed and climbed into the car, waiting for his driver to gather his wits.

“Dad said you needed someone who was used to driving European roads Uncle John, never driven these roads?”

“Don’t drive at all Ace, it’s never been a necessity, until now.” He turned slightly in his seat. “Look, it’s a long story, and I’m not sure how much of it your dad’s told you…”

“Just that you need a driver and that…” Ace paused and glanced across at his Godfather “..that it’s likely to be dangerous if you’re involved.”

John stared out of the windscreen, considering as he watched as the residential areas grew sparser and the countryside opened up and the road became autobahn.

“Ace, pull in at the next service area, so we can get a coffee and talk.”

“Whatever you say Uncle John.”

“Oh, and you can drop the ‘Uncle’ bit – that your father considers you capable of helping me out means that you’ve earned the right.”

There seemed not much else to say, and silence settled over the occupants of the car as they put distance between them and the town of Aachen.

O*O*O

**08.45hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Sherlock arrived in Lestrade’s office moments after the report was received about the car in Trent Park. He had already received information from his brother about the likely direction the getaway car had travelled, and was already putting two and two together when Lestrade looked up at him.

“They’ve left the car in situ, and yes I have the information from your brother’s man. Seems our fugitives were headed north – any ideas?” Greg raised an eyebrow, taking in the pensive look on the other man’s face.

“Plenty. We need to look at the car, be sure it’s them.”

“Will you travel with me? Or will you insist on getting a cab?”

Silver-grey eyes flicked between Lestrade and Sally Donovan, the latter keeping a neutral expression as they waited.

“I’ll go with you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “At the moment this is the best chance we have of discovering where John is.”

“You think he’ll be in Trent Park?” Sally sounded sceptical, and then stole a glance up at the consulting detective’s face. “No, you’re as in the dark as the rest of us, aren’t you?”

“If I am, at least I know what to look for if I’m to find light.” He grimaced “Provided the locals haven’t destroyed any evidence they may have left behind.”

“They assure us it won’t be touched until we’ve had a chance to look it over.” Greg headed towards the lift, not waiting to see if the two detectives followed him. “Let’s not keep them waiting guys.”

Sherlock strode into the lift behind him, leaving Sally shaking her head in resignation – trust the Freak to have no clue about the niceties of letting ladies go first.

O*O*O

**11.15hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Ace sat and stared at his companion, not sure what he should say or how he should react. In some respects he felt honoured that this friend of his dad’s was trusting him with some very personal information, but on the other hand he felt he should be horrified that anyone could get away with doing something like that in England of all places, and concerned that John was trying to find this woman on his own, with no back up other than an untrained eighteen year old.

John watched the myriad expressions flit across the young man’s face, patiently waiting for all the information to sink in before speaking again.

“You have questions.” Like Sherlock had all those years back, he made it a statement, not a question.

“Why didn’t you wait and bring Sherlock along? I mean, it seems from what dad says the pair of you’ve been making a bit of a name for yourselves, and wasn’t it all to keep him out of the way that the Dufour woman kidnapped you?” Fiddling with the sugar bowl Ace couldn’t look at his Godfather. “I don’t quite understand.”

“Okay.” John smiled faintly. “I told you about the nightmares, well, in some of them I’m back in the cellar.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “While I was in there, I thought I heard Sherlock, but when I called him…” John shrugged. “He never answered.”

Taking a sip of his almost cold coffee looked Alexander in the eye.

“Now, I don’t know if he was actually there, my heart says no, my mind is sceptical. I know, deep down I know that he would not have just ignored me, he would not have let me suffer on my own, but that’s the problem you see.”

Ace frowned and shook his head.

“You look unconvinced.” John was waiting for the young man to say he wasn’t prepared to go on this particular adventure when he caught the ghost of a smile on the other man’s lips.

“No, I’m just wondering whether I can find us some accommodation where your nightmares won’t bother the neighbours. Come on, drink up John – we’ve a long road ahead.”

 


	4. Preparing to Leave

  **10.15hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Greg and Sally stood by the cordon with Detective Inspector Andrews from the local CID, watching as Sherlock climbed all over the inside of the car, careful not to destroy or damage any evidence.

“So, that’s him then, Sherlock Holmes.” Andrews remarked, watching as the black coated figure backed out of the passenger door and moved around the vehicle. “He always like this?”

“Usually he’s much worse.” Sally said without malice. “It won’t last.”

“Worse? How could…..” Andrew’s voice trailed off as Sherlock – giving a believable impression of a sniffer dog, crouching down to examine the ground, his nose almost touching the floor before leaping up and stalking towards a brick-built building.

Sally chuckled as he swept straight into the ladies.

“Wish I’d filmed that.”

Andrews frowned at Lestrade, who just smiled and shook his head.

“It’s a love hate relationship…”

“Lestrade!” Sherlock’s voice echoed its way out of the latrine building and carried across the park. His dark head popped out of the tiled doorway. “Don’t cross the grass – come around the edge of the tape until you get to the building.” And with that he retreated back inside.

With a shrug Greg picked his way around to the toilet block, Donovan and Andrews following close behind. As they stepped onto the covered paved porch, Sherlock stepped out again.

“Close inspection of the ground around the car, tracking across the grass, you can see…” here he pointed down to where the grass met the building. “The marks where her stilettos sunk into the ground, some deeper than others? It’s not rained for several days, so Mlle Dufour was in all likelihood carrying a small case or overnight bag, something heavy enough to increase the depth of the indent of the right foot.”

He moved back inside, expecting the police officers to follow.

“One would assume she went into the toilet to change out of her ‘court’ clothes, put on something easier to travel in, less likely to draw attention.”

“What makes you so sure? She may have simply come in here to use the toilet.” Andrews interrupted.

“No return stiletto marks.” Came a slightly surprised whisper.

“Exactly Sally.” Sherlock nodded at her. “So she must have changed into flat or low heeled boots. Now, look at this….” He flicked his torch on to supplement the weak winter light coming in through the doorway, shining it into the sink. “Brunette hair, and if you look closely there is a root attached, so forensics will confirm that the DNA will match Dufour.”

“So she brushed her hair, so what?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, catching a look from Greg that said ‘Don’t piss off the locals’, and moved the position of his torch to show a yellowy thread caught on the rim of the dirty white porcelain.

“Honey blonde I would say, what do you think Donovan?”

Now it was Greg’s turn to roll his eyes as he was well aware that the younger man was doing. Sally stepped a bit closer.

“Could be, but it looks….”

Sherlock waited, watching her. She looked up at him with a frown.

“It’s not real – from a synthetic wig?”

Nodding, Sherlock handed her his torch.

“Hold that steady for me…... please”

Lestrade’s eyebrows rose, but neither Sally nor the consulting detective noticed. She was watching him as he pulled out his magnifying glass, bending ever closer to the sink, thoroughly examining the strand.  With a satisfied grunt he stood back and held out his hand towards Sally. She switched the torch off and slapped it into his palm – he paid no heed.

“If you look, there are no minute nicks in the strand that would indicate a machine wefted wig – therefore you’re looking for a company that supplies hand knotted wigs – it’s very likely too that the colour will be unique to the manufacturer.”

“She got changed, and then put on a blond wig – that stuffs your search then.” Andrews shook his head morosely.

“No.” Sherlock swung around to look at him. “It just delays us awhile. Do you have access to a good artist?”

“Photo-fit?”

“No, someone who can actually draw to my descriptions; I’ve seen this woman several times, and can envisage the changes the blond wig will make – get me an artist; I’ll provide you with a current likeness of Mlle Solange Dufour.”

xXx

**14.20hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Despite the chill wind blowing up the estuary the tall slender blond and her ruddy cheeked, dark haired companion strolled along towards the old café, its peeling paint telling a tale of better, more prosperous days.

Stepping into the gloomy interior they walked to the counter, allowing their eyes to adjust to the poor light as they did so. At a corner table two young sailors sat, tucking into a greasy looking ‘all day breakfast’ and speaking in low tones.

Ordering two cups of coffee, Altermann gave an almost imperceptible nod toward the two men, and then joined Solange Dufour where she had settled in a window seat.

“Our boat is here.” He spoke softly, indicating the other occupants of the café. “When we’ve had our coffee we can go back to the hotel and collect our luggage.”

“What about the car?”

Altermann hesitated while the young lad from behind the counter pushed two over-filled mugs from his tray to the table, then without a word returned to his station by the till.

“We’ll drive it along the quayside, park it up and leave it – by the time anyone realises it’s abandoned we’ll be long gone.”

“And of course, no-one will associate it with us?”

“No, I hired it under the name of Hans Fassmeyer, German citizen.” Gerard smiled at his companion. “I don’t imagine he’s even aware that his driving license and credit cards are missing, and if he is, it will take time to track them from Switzerland to England.”

The blond head nodded, then dipped down to sip at the thick brown liquid. She pulled a face.

“God save me from the abomination that passes for coffee in this ridiculous country!”

Altermann winced as he too sipped at the bitter yet tasteless drink, shuddering as he swallowed.

“Well, fortunately it’s not compulsory to finish our drinks,” he said softly. “By the time we’ve walked back and collected our things it will almost be time to board the boat.”

With a final brief nod to the two sailors as they rose from their seats, Dufour and Altermann left the café, unhurriedly strolling back along the quayside towards their waiting car.

xXx

**14.00hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

Sherlock stood and stared at the artist’s interpretation of his description of the diamond thief. Through narrowed eyes he examined every line and area of shadow before stepping back and giving a curt nod.

“That’s her, that’s Solange Dufour. Lestrade, we need that alongside the photograph taken at her arrest – after all, it’s very likely that she’ll revert to her natural look or even change it yet again.”

There was a depressed murmur of agreement from the three police officers in the room as the artist took his work away to get copies sent nationwide.

Stepping closer to the yard officers Sherlock lowered his voice.

“Lestrade, can you make sure copies get to Interpol and to my brother – we know her most likely destination is home, Mycroft can get these to some of his contacts on the continent.”

Greg nodded and turned away, pulling out his mobile to make the call.

“Where to now?” Sally asked, her eyes roving over the map of the UK that hung on the wall.

Sherlock stepped up behind her, taking in all the possible exit points.

“I don’t believe she’ll head to a major port or airport – it would be too easy for us to follow.” His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to look inwards. “No, her rescuers have a choice of routes out.”

He spun on his heel and looked hard at D I Andrews.

“There are more than a handful of private airports within a fifty mile radius of Trent Park, can you make sure they all have copies of the pictures?”

Andrews nodded.

“I’ll see to it.” He said, glad to have something to do at last. He hurried from the room just as Sherlock’s phone started to ring.

Pulling it from his pocket Sherlock glanced at the caller ID and frowned, answering it with a sharp jab of his thumb against the keys.

“Mrs Hudson? Has John returned?” he demanded without preamble.

Sally turned to look at him, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the answer. Even Greg, his instructions given for the further distribution of the pictures, was standing looking expectantly at the younger man.

“No dear,” Mrs Hudson’s voice, though shaky, could be clearly heard. “But a letter has arrived for you, and it’s John’s handwriting on the envelope.”

“Then open it Mrs Hudson.”

The sound of an envelope being carefully ripped open was followed by a gasp and the sound of the elderly lady obviously trying to catch whatever fell out of it without dropping her phone.

“Oh Sherlock!” she exclaimed finally. “It’s a bank card – one of yours! And there’s a note – hang on…”

Mrs Hudson put her phone down as she fumbled with the single sheet of paper. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he waited.

“He just says….”

“His exact words if you please Mrs Hudson.”

“Yes dear. He says ‘Sherlock, I’ve emptied the back-up fund. I will replace the money when I get back to London. If for any reason I don’t make it back…’ Oh dear, do you think…”

“Just finish the note.” Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth.

There was a pause, then she continued shakily

“He says ‘If for any reason I don’t make it back there is a lump sum due to me from my Army pension that will cover what I owe you. Also, my will is held by the bank, you’ll find details in the notebook in my top drawer. Everything I have is yours’” Her voice broke as she read the last sentence.

Sally and Greg stared at Sherlock, who was staring at the phone in his hand as if it was a poisonous snake.

“Are you still there dear?” the fretful voice came over the phone’s speaker.

“Yes, yes I am. Where was it posted?”

“I can’t read it – maybe when you get home you can work it out.”

“Too long – I’ll ask my brother to pick it up.” Sherlock cut the call without bothering to say goodbye, immediately dialling his brother’s number.

“Mycroft, John has written to me – I need you to get someone to pick up the envelope and find out where he posted it from.”

The was the muted sounds of voices, then

 “Anthea’s on her way, she’ll be able to sooth Mrs Hudson’s no doubt frazzled nerves – you are far too rough with your landlady.”

“The pictures?”

“Are on their way to Switzerland, France, Belgium and the Netherlands.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Is Lestrade still with you?”

Wordlessly Sherlock handed his phone to the Detective Inspector.

“Lestrade.”

“Ah, Detective Inspector; I’ve spoken to your superiors, and we are agreed that there is every possibility that Dufour will head for the continent, where we need a Scotland Yard presence to accompany the representative of this office in order to bring her back.” His voice was soft yet brooked no argument. “As both you and Sergeant Donovan were involved in the original arrest, I have arranged for your passports and clothes to be collected from your homes and delivered to your office, where the representative’s passport and clothes will also be waiting for him.”

“Now hang on Mr Holmes, you can’t just…”

“Yes, I think you’ll find I can.” Came the calm reply. “Now I suggest you make your way back to Victoria, the sooner you pick up your travel instructions, the sooner you can be on your way.”

Greg fumed silently, clenching his jaw against a desire to tell the manipulative arse exactly what he thought about his interference before a thought struck him.

“Hang on a minute – who is the representative from your office?”

“Ah, yes. That would be a Mr Holmes – Sherlock Holmes.”


	5. Moving Towards Our Fate

**20.30hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

“Where are we?” John peered up at the building as they got out of the car.

Ace grabbed his bag and locked the car.

“This is a walker’s hostel – it’s well out of season for climbers, too early for hikers and too far from the slopes for skiers, so they have plenty of space.”

“Great.” Swinging his backpack up onto his shoulder he followed the younger man inside.

Standing at the reception counter John listened in admiration as the younger man haggled with the proprietor for good rooms, away from the handful of other guests, and for reasonable rates. He let the friendly banter sooth his tired brain, so when Ace closed the deal and mentioned the cost he was pleasantly surprised, and handed over the cash without a qualm.

“They don’t have restaurant facilities here,” Ace explained as he led the way to their rooms, “but there are a couple of reasonable café’s nearby. I stayed here last year on a walking holiday with some of the lads from Gutersloh.”

“And what did you tell mine host?” John asked “About needing rooms apart from everyone else.”

A grin lit Ace’s face.

“Took a leaf out of Dad’s book John, and stuck as close to the truth as I dared – told him that you’d been in an accident and were still suffering nightmares.”

“I get the feeling I may live to regret telling you about the things your Dad and me got up to.” John chuckled.

“Oh no…..but Dad might!” Ace stopped in front of a room, and handed John the key.

The ex-army doctor cuffed his godson gently round the ear, and let himself into the small twin bedded room.

“I’ll be across the hall; we can freshen up and then head out for food?”

“Sounds good,” John agreed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes?”

Ace nodded and disappeared into his room.

xXx

**21.00hrs Friday 22 nd February 2013**

In a small town just outside of Reims a Land Rover Discovery pulled up at a small but chic boutique hotel, and Solange Dufour and Gerard Altermann made their way inside. Dufour had discarded the honey blonde wig, and tossed it over the side of the boat mid-channel – there was nothing to tie her in to the passenger of the car dumped in Essex.

“My sister and I have rooms booked.” Altermann smiled at the receptionist. “The name is Beauchene.”

“Yes, Monsieur, we have a booking for two double rooms with a shared lounge between the two rooms.” She signalled for the porter. “I’ll have your luggage taken up to your rooms while you sign the register. Would you like to dine? The restaurant is still open, or I can arrange for a meal to be brought up to you.”

Altermann glanced at Dufour, who flicked her gaze upwards.

“In our rooms I think, we’ll take a look at the menu and place our order once we’re settled.”

“Of course, Sir.” Placing the register back under the desk she handed him two key cards. “You are in the Romano suite.”

With a smile, he took them and turned towards the lift.

“Beauchene?” the brunette asked as the doors closed and the lift started to rise.

“One of the many names in which I hold credit cards.” Her companion replied. “When we leave here the Beauchenes will disappear from the face of the earth, and the credit card company will be unable to find me at the address they have on their records.”

“Impeccable planning as ever.” The lady smiled.

xXx

**21.50hrs Friday 22nd February 2013**

The telephone interrupted as Dufour and Altermann finished their meal, the latter wiping his lips with his napkin as he crossed the room to answer it. He listened, then with a curt “Please send him up.” Replaced the receiver and returned to his seat.

“He is here?”

“Yes, so we will soon be able to put your English associates’ failed escapades behind us.”

There was a brief knock at the door, and it opened to reveal a tall, overweight man in a smart business suit, carrying a briefcase.

“Ah, Fischer,” Altermann greeted the lawyer, stepping back to allow him entrance to the room. “Let me introduce you to my associate, Solange Dufour.”

xXx

**20.00hrs Friday 22nd February 2013**

“I can get used to this.” Sally grinned as they passed through customs in Zurich, slipping unmolested through the airport using their diplomatic passes.

“You really don’t want to be beholden to my brother, Sally.” Sherlock smirked.

“Yeah, but hassle free travel would be a bonus sometimes.”

“Not worth selling your soul for.”

“Enough you two.” Greg said tiredly “What now?”

A grin spread across Sherlock’s face and he pointed to a car, waiting outside the VIP lounge. It was long and black, and horribly familiar.

“Bloody hell! Do they come as standard for every smarmy diplomat?  Turning up miraculously whenever you need a car?”

“Mycroft clones all over the world – what a frightening thought. However, he would have arranged this car to take us to the hotel to complete the impression of diplomatic status.”

Leading the way, he nodded to the chauffeur and climbed into the back, settling himself into the corner as Donovan and Lestrade followed him. The chauffeur loaded their cases into the boot of the car, then slipped into driver’s seat and pulled away.

Sally opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock held up a silencing hand.

“We’ll settle into our hotel rooms, if I know Mycroft he will have arranged a suite of rooms, so we can dine and make our plans in privacy.” He smoothed hand over the leather wallet that hadn’t left his possession since it had been passed to him by Anthea, Mycroft’s PA, and turned his head to look out at the passing scenery.

With a shrug Greg engaged Sally in a discussion about holiday plans, just to pass the time, and this continued right up until they each went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in Sherlock’s suite in thirty minutes to make plans.

As he waited in his room, Sherlock opened the case and studied the contents, nodding in approval at his brother’s foresight. At least now they stood a chance of getting John out of the country in one piece, and Solange Dufour returned to England to face justice.

xXx

**21.00hrs Friday 22nd February 2013**

As they sipped their beer and waited for their food to be served, John was busy writing additional notes in his book, adding extra thoughts about their quarry in the margins of the well filled pages.

“John….”

The older man looked up, but Ace was staring into his glass, a light blush warming his cheeks. Ever patient, John waited until eventually his godson decided to ask the question that was on his mind.

He waited until the food was on the table before broaching the subject.

“John…. if you don’t mind me saying…”

“I’m sure I’ll have heard worse from Sherlock.”

“Well, what I don’t understand is, you seem to have enough money for this ‘little venture’ as you call it, and you know where Solange Dufour is headed – why then didn’t you fly direct to Switzerland? You could have been there, ready and waiting for her.”

“Have I told you about Sherlock’s brother Mycroft?”

“Who? Do the whole family have weird names?  Or did their parents really hate them?”

“God knows.” John chuckled. “Well, older brother Mycroft is, to all intents and purposes, the British Government. The first time I met him he kidnapped me off a crowded Brixton street, had me driven to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and offered to pay me to spy on his brother.”

“Bloody hell!”

“Yeah, he made every public phone I approached ring, until I finally answered one, then proceeded to point out how in control of the CCTV cameras he is.”

Ace frowned.

“In control of…”

“From the moment I left Baker Street I have been keeping to streets where I know there is little or no camera cover.” A grim expression crossed John’s face. “Thank goodness Sherlock dislikes his brother so much. Working with him I’ve learned the quickest ways to get around London on foot without his brother knowing where I am.”

“And if he can follow you by CCTV and kidnap you, then having you stopped or picked up at the airport is a piece of cake.”

“Exactly.”

They finished their meal in silence, and while Ace tried to take in the implications of their conversation, John weighed up the pros and cons of telling the young man the rest of his plan.

He continued to mull over the wisdom of this course of action as they walked back to the hostel, coming to his decision as they reached their rooms.

“Ace,” he nodded towards his room. “Come in for a minute, I want to talk away from prying eyes and listening ears.” John opened the door and crossed to his bed, expecting his young companion to follow.

Taking a seat on the spare bed Ace looked expectantly at his godfather.

“Look Alexander, the closer we get to that bloody woman’s bolt-hole the clearer this all becomes. I can’t – and won’t – allow her to get away with what she did to me, nor can I leave her free to do it again, to someone who maybe wasn’t fortunate enough to have friends looking for them.”

Ace nodded, seeing on the other man’s face the moment he acknowledged that, whatever his mind tried to trick him into believing, his friend hadn’t deserted him.

“When we get to Rombach I’ll make sure you have the funds to get you back home…”

“And you’ll do what?”

“I’ll make my way by public transport to Aarau, and wait for Dufour to arrive.”

“Are you asking me to leave you to deal with this on your own?” Seeing that he had correctly guessed John’s intention, a bubble of anger burst in the young man. “No way! Do you know what my old man would say if I left you to do this on your own?”

“Look Ace….”

“No you look Uncle John. If everything you’ve told me about you and Dad is true, then you have been good friends for years, and good friends – and their family – stick together.”

John shook his head, running his hands through his hair distractedly.

“It’s not that simple Ace. When I get close enough, I intend to make sure she never has the opportunity to hurt anyone ever again – I intend to kill her.”


	6. Final Move

**05.40hrs Saturday 23 rd February 2013**

A hammering on his door pulled John from the clutches of his nightmare; that and the desperate voice of his godson calling him.

“John! Open the door John.  Are you alright?”

Dragging himself out of bed and wrapping a sheet around his waist John staggered to the door, calling through to reassure Ace as he did so. Grasping the sheet in one hand, he opened the door with the other.

“Come in.” He stepped back as the young man entered. “I’m sorry – was it bad?”

Ace looked at him.

“You tell me…” his voice tailed off as his eyes fell on the livid scar on John’s shoulder and he found himself staring.

A little self-consciously John scrambled back onto his bed and pulled a blanket around him, covering the offending area of skin.

“Oh God John, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be – it’s not your fault.” He unconsciously pulled the blanket closer, and then glanced at his guest who looked as if he had pulled yesterday’s clothes on in a bit of a hurry. “Didn’t mean to wake you so rudely – was I very loud?”

“I suppose….” The young man nodded. “But you weren’t very coherent, and I’m sure if anyone else heard you they wouldn’t have understood.”

John flushed painfully.

“What did I say?”

“Well, you kept saying something to someone called Bill…”

“Murray. Old friend – ask your dad sometime. Bill was with me when…” He gestured vaguely at his shoulder. “What else?”

“You were calling out in some foreign language, same words over and over.” Ace looked a little uncomfortable. “Then you were crying – something about being bricked up – look Uncle John, what the fuck did that woman do to you? I mean, I know you said…but…I mean…” He stumbled to a halt.

“Not just her Ace, I’ve had these nightmares since I got shot, remember I told you…”

“But…but that was….” He stopped, drew in a deep breath and added calmly. “Anyway, when I got to the door you were calling out for Sherlock.”

John nodded, and then dropped his head onto his chest, not knowing quite what to say. After the merest pause a hand on his arm made him look up.

Ace was grinning ruefully.

“Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me, I suppose I thought you were exaggerating a bit.”

This brought a reluctant smile to John’s lips.

“Exaggeration? No, that was your Dad’s forte!”

“Breakfast?” Ace got up and crossed to the door. “As we’re both awake, we might as well eat and be on our way.”

xXx

**08.00hrs Saturday 23 rd February 2013**

As Gerard Altermann paid their bill, Dufour took the package of papers that had been left for them at reception and walked out to the car.

When he joined her, she dropped a new set of car keys and a map into his hand.

“This is where we pick up the new transport.” She barely looked at him, so busy was she reading the legal brief that had been prepared by the lawyer, Fischer.

With a knowing smile he pocketed the keys, consulted the map and pulled smoothly away from the hotel.

xXx

**08.30hrs Saturday 23 rd February 2013**

Sherlock watched as his companions finished their breakfast, he having only had two strong cups of black coffee.

“Do you ever eat?” Sally asked as she swallowed the last of her toast.

“Not when I’m working.”

“Not unless John…” Greg realised the remark he was about to make was probably not a good idea given the circumstances, but Sherlock just looked at him, read his mind and sniffed dismissively.

“When you two have finished I want to get to the Stadpolitzei, the sooner we make contact with this man Danuser that happier I’ll be.” He took in the twin looks of disbelief from his companions. “Well, you two can talk police talk to him while I get on with the job at hand and look for John.”

Wiping his mouth on a napkin Greg rose, and reached for his overcoat.

“Come on then.” He said, moving towards the door and leaving Sally to scramble after them.

“Thanks, Sir!” she grumbled sarcastically not quite under her breath, bringing a smirk to Sherlock’s austere features.

Climbing into the car provided by Mycroft’s Swiss counterpart, they were soon gliding effortlessly through the busy morning streets towards the headquarters of the Stadpolitzei on Bahnhofquai 3.

A tall, slender young man was already waiting for them in the foyer, and he strode forward as the three detectives walked in the door.

“Mr Holmes,” he held his hand out towards Sherlock, who reluctantly shook it. “And you must be Detective Inspector Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Donovan.” He shook hands with the two officers, and Sally grinned as he pronounced her boss’s name with a distinct French lilt.

“My brother has explained the situation?” Sherlock asked, bringing the young man’s attention back to him.

“Absolutely,” He smiled easily. “If you will come up to my office, we’ll be joined by a couple of my colleagues and then we’ll hear what you plan to do.”

Gesturing towards the lifts he led the way, away from the foyer and deeper into the police headquarters.

xXx

**11.30hrs Saturday 23rd February 2013**

As they drove into the town of Rombach the atmosphere in the Kuga grew quite tense.

Driving slowly Ace kept his eyes open for somewhere to stop and eat, finally finding a little place in a backstreet with space outside for him to park the car.

In silence they climbed out, and entered the near empty café, finding a table in a quiet corner and without conversation scanned the menu and placed their orders.

When their drinks arrived, beer for John and coffee for Ace, the younger man leaned forward and said quietly “You can’t ditch me here, no matter what you plan to do.”

“And I can’t involve you either.”

“I’m already involved Uncle John, I’ve been involved since you asked Dad for help.”

John rubbed his hands over his face, struggling to find the right words to explain his reasoning.

“Look John,” Ace added. “I understand what you want to do, I also understand the implications if I’m caught with you. Dad said whatever it was you were planning to do would probably be dangerous, yet he let me come with you – he trusts you not to do anything to deliberately put me at risk.”

“But what if I can’t protect you from her? No Ace, I don’t think I could face your dad if it all goes tits up.”

They both lean away from the table as their food was delivered, and as the waitress hurried away they started to eat.

“Tell me,” Ace said suddenly. “What would your mate Sherlock do?”

“About Dufour? He’d try to trace her in the UK, then he – or more likely his brother – would arrange a flight over here and help from the local government officers and police, why?”

“And where do you think he is now?”

John thought for a second then laughed softly.

“Uh-uh I know what you’re up to! Yes, you’re right, Sherlock is very likely already in Aarau – probably broken into her apartment and sitting there in her comfiest chair. Probably have his feet up on the coffee table too….however…” the laughter died in his eyes. “She’s not stupid enough to think she can fly out of England, so she would have had to travel by boat and train or car. She’ll be somewhere between the coast and home.”

He paused and took a long pull on his beer.

“I half hoped I’d bump into her on the ferry over – all this could have been avoided then, with one swift shove overboard.”

Ace almost choked on his coffee, grabbing a napkin and mopping at the liquid running down his chin.

“But,” John smiled at the young man. “I’m not that lucky.” He continued to watch his Godson for a moment or two then asked “Are you dead set on coming with me?”

“You try to leave without me I’ll follow anyway.”

John read the truth of the dramatic statement in Ace’s eyes, and once again rubbed a weary hand over his face.

“You have your phone?”

Ace nodded, pulling the instrument from his pocket.

“Okay, add this number to your contacts.” He reeled off a telephone number that was as familiar to him as his own name.

“Who is it?”

“That is Sherlock’s number – if things get out of hand, or if….well, if I don’t make a clean job of getting rid of Dufour, then call him, tell him who you are, and that you’re with me. He’ll help you.”

The sound of rapid clicking told John that his companion was adding the number.

“He’ll be as rude as it’s possible to be, but you can be sure he’ll answer your call because, if nothing else, he’ll think it’s me calling.”

This caused the younger man to pause and frown.

“He doesn’t have your number in his phone?”

“Of course he does, but remember his brother? He’d have it tracked and me picked up in no time, so I left my phone behind and bought a new one.” he explained. “And yes, I know I sound paranoid but believe me, I’ve spent enough time around the Holmes brothers to know exactly how they’d react in any given circumstance.”

They finished their meal and left the café, crossing the pavement to the car. Ace pulled the keys from his pocket, but John’s hand on his arm prevented him from opening the door.

“Look Ace, just promise me if things get out of hand you’ll ring him. He will come.”

xXx

**10.30hrs Saturday 23rd February 2013**

The three English detectives watched the countryside pass by from the windows of the unmarked police vehicle as they moved out of Zurich and headed towards Aarau.

“It should take us less than an hour to reach the town,” Danuser said, expertly guiding the vehicle through the traffic. “I have advised the local police that they are to wait until we arrive before making any moves. They have an officer watching the apartment – nothing more”

“I don’t understand though,” Greg leaned forward from his seat behind Sherlock. “If you have wanted a reason to arrest her, surely with all the crimes she is known to have committed…”

“Ah, not here in Switzerland though,” the Swiss officer smiled. “And until her arrest for the theft of the Rostopchin Diamonds and complicity in murder and attempted murder, we have had no grounds to bring her in. She’s been very clever; no-one has managed to implicate her in any of the crimes we know she has masterminded.”

A loud chirping text alert interrupted their discussion. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the message, frowning slightly as he read the words then swiftly sending a response.

“Bad news?” Donovan, sitting behind the driver, had seen the frown and wondered what had caused it.

“Depends,” Sherlock said unhelpfully. “On what you call bad news.”

“Sherlock….” Lestrade growled, in no mood for the younger man’s antics.

“Well Danuser, you can add complicity in another murder to the list of crimes for which she is now wanted. The prison officer that was badly injured in her escape died a couple of hours ago.”

“Shit!” Sally flung herself back against the car seat.

“Eloquent.” Sherlock commented snarkily, but as she caught sight of his profile Sally could see no real malice in his expression.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Danuser said. “Be sure we will cooperate to the fullest in order to see her pay for this.”

xXx

**12.45hrs Saturday 23rd February 2013**

Despite driving for over four hours without a stop Altermann showed no signs of needing a rest and until the lady beside him chose to take a break they would simply carry on.

Skirting to the west of Rombach they neared their destination, unaware that their route had put them just minutes behind the ex-army doctor and his companion.

Ahead of them lay the town of Aarau, where Solange Dufour had an upmarket apartment, and waiting for them outside that apartment was the police officer deployed to watch the building.

~0~

 In the offices of the Kantonspolizei in Aarau, Sherlock and his companions listened to the update from the local Inspector.

His men had been watching the apartment building since they had received word that Dufour had made a break from the prison van in London, but were now on high alert.

“There is the possibility that we are not the only people trying to catch her.” Danuser informed the Inspector.

“More than a possibility.” Sherlock interrupted. “My colleague Dr Watson is almost certainly on his way here.” He pulled from the leather diplomatic wallet a photograph of John and handed it to the Inspector. “I would appreciate if you could have this circulated to your officers at all the bus and train stations, it would help if they could pick him up and bring him to meet us.”

Sally’s lips twitched. They all knew John had disappeared from London – well, all except the local officer – but Sherlock had made it sound as if the plan had been to meet him here all along. She had to admire the way he worked.

“He wouldn’t have hired a car?” the Inspector asked.

“He doesn’t drive.” Dismissing the conversation Sherlock turned to look at a map of the town. “Show me again the area where she has her apartment.”

~0~

Despite having purchased a local map, Ace had to stop several times to ask directions, but the town wasn’t that big and soon they were parked up across the street from Dufour’s apartment block.

“What now?”

“Now we make a quick reccy of the area.” John dug into his rucksack as he spoke, pulling his gun from the depths of the khaki bag and hotching forward in his seat so that he could slip it into the back of his jeans.

Ace said nothing, just watched, expressionless, and when John was ready they exited the vehicle, strolling along the road looking like nothing more than a couple of tourists.

Taking their time, they ambled around the area of apartment block, John giving Ace a crash course in watching for enemy snipers and backing up his expertise by pointing out the two plain clothes police officers watching the building.

“I didn’t think they looked that obvious.” Ace frowned, trying not to turn and stare at the nearest one.

“Gun in a chest holster that isn’t quite covered by his jacket, and the obvious padding of a Kevlar vest under his shirt.”

“Dad always said you were good in the field – for a doctor.”

When Ace didn’t hear the expected laughter he glanced at his Godfather, noting how still the man had gone as he watched a car cruise past them and turn in towards the underground car park.

“That’s her.” John breathed, watching as the vehicle disappeared beyond the automatic gates. He turned to his young companion. “I need you to persuade someone to let us into that apartment block.”

“How?”

“Sherlock has a favourite trick. He rings the entry phone for a different apartment and blags his way in that way – try something like pretending you want to surprise your Aunt?”

“So you did need me here.” Ace grinned.

“Making use of you as you insisted on coming.”

They crossed the road, and John stood back and let Ace lie his way into the building…

~0~

A knock at the door heralded a young officer with a message for the waiting detectives. Solange Dufour had been seen being driven into the car park of her apartment block.

“Right, then I suggest we make our way to rendezvous with my officers, and assess the area before we approach.” Danuser suggested, reaching to pick up his jacket.

The walk to Adelbandii took less than fifteen minutes, and the officer that had been watching the front of the apartment was waiting for them out of sight of the building.

“The housemaid went in about five minutes before Dufour and her companion arrived.” He reported. “There have been one or two others going in and out, but none of her known associates.”

“Do we know how long the housemaid is usually in there?” Sally asked.

The officer shrugged.

“Were you thinking it might be better to let her get clear?” Danuser flicked a glance around the assembled officers.

“It can’t hurt.” Lestrade said. “Can it?”

“If I were Dufour I wouldn’t be staying longer than necessary. She may think she has plenty of time, but she is sure to know I will be after her.”

“Y’know Sherlock, I never realised you were so modest.” Sally chuckled, and then became serious once more. “So we go straight in then.”

“I think that would be the best.” Danuser nodded, and was about to turn away when the shrill tone of Sherlock’s mobile halted him.

Pulling the iPhone from his pocket he looked at the screen. The number displayed was unknown, but he answered it nonetheless.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Mr Holmes, you don’t know me, but I’m with John Watson.”

“What? Where is he?”

“Mr Holmes, he told me to ring you if things got out of hand. We’re at Solange Dufour’s apartment – he’s inside, but I think they must have a hostage.”

“Wait – stop! John’s in Dufour’s apartment?” as he spoke Sherlock gestured for the Swiss police officers to lead the way. “Okay, we’re close by. What makes you think…?”

“He made me wait outside, but I heard him say ‘let her go you bitch’, so it can’t be Dufour who’s being held.”

“Right, come down to the door and let us in – we’ll be there in a minute.” He ended the call, following close on the heels of Danuser and his officer as they raced towards the building, Lestrade and Donovan bringing up the rear.

At the apartment the outer door was being held open by a worried looking teenager.

“Mr Holmes?”

“That’s me, and you are?” Sherlock pushed his way through the door.

“Alexander, John’s my godfather. Please Mr Holmes, I know he can take care of himself but he’s outnumbered in there…”

“Just show us where.” Donovan stepped forward, her hand on his arm, urging him towards the stairs.

They moved swiftly up to the first floor, where Ace pointed out the partially open door.

Approaching cautiously, Sherlock listened to the conversation coming softly through the open door. He stopped the others and pulled them a little way away.

“John doesn’t sound too bad, but I wouldn’t want to trigger an incident by taking him by surprise.” He whispered. “Let me go in.”

“Sherlock….”

“Mr Holmes, you have no jurisdiction here.”

“I don’t need jurisdiction to try to prevent my colleague from taking the law into his own hands.” Sherlock snapped back as from inside the apartment the sound of a frightened wail reached their ears.

Spinning away from the others he crossed to the open door, standing to one side and calling out softly.

“John. Do you have the situation under control?”

There was silence, even the wailing stopped.

“John?”

“She’s holding her maid as hostage.”

John sounded angry. Sherlock frowned. Backing away he re-joined the others.

“Lestrade, you and Donovan follow me in, but keep your distance. Danuser, you and your officer stay here – John may react badly to strangers.”

“What about me?” Ace asked quietly.

“Stay here.” Lestrade said. “John obviously wanted you safe.”

Sherlock was already walking towards the open door, and the two British police officers hurried after him.

“John, I’m coming in.”

There was the sound of a steadying breath being drawn then

“Her driver’s on the floor in the hall.”

“Okay.” Sherlock stepped slowly through the door, keeping his hands where they can be seen. “John, I’ve got Lestrade and Donovan with me.” He could see him now, his profile still and calm, his arm extended, steady.

Behind Sherlock, Sally bent down to pull the unconscious Altermann’s arms behind him.

“Just cuffing the prisoner John.” Her voice was calm and soft, and as the cuffs were applied with a loud click John barely reacted.

Sherlock gave the Detective Sergeant an approving nod, then turned his attention back to his friend.

“Situation John?”

“She has her maid in a stranglehold.”

“And I’ll break her neck unless you let me go!” Solange Dufour, the once calm sophisticated jewel thief, screamed like a fishwife. “You should have died Dr Watson – those English dolts should have ensured it!”

John’s hand tightened around his gun, a fine tremor running down his arm, but he never once broke his concentration.

Slowly Sherlock stepped through the door, taking in in an instant the precariousness of the maid’s situation, feeling the tension in his friend as he held onto his professionalism and military training.

Lestrade followed him in, and Sally stepped around them to stand on John’s right, her eyes never leaving the two women standing at the far side of the room.

Dufour snarled a handful of profanities, pulling the trembling young girl closer to her, tightening the hold on her neck.

“Now don’t do anything foolish,” Greg tried to reason with her. “You’ll only make things worse…”

“Worse? Worse?  You bloody fool, _he_ made it worse…” she screeched, pointing at Sherlock. “Him, always there, in my way, getting between me and my work….”

As she ranted and raged Lestrade and Donovan stood and stared, but Sherlock was watching John, seeing him taking in the scene, reading the body language, so at the moment that Dufour screamed her final threat and moved to snap the young maid’s neck John saw the tension in her muscles and acted before she could complete the movement.

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space, yet Sally reacted instinctively, stepping forward to pull the maid away from her captor and ducking down and away from the line of fire. Lestrade caught the jewel thief as she collapsed, a red stain spreading across her shoulder.

Suddenly the room was filled with people, Danuser and the two local officers burst into the room, the former talking into his mobile already, calling for back up and medical assistance.

Sherlock stepped up to John, who still had his gun trained on the injured woman.

“It’s over John.” he said softly. “Alexander’s outside waiting for you.”

Hearing his godson’s name shook the ex-soldier out of his trance-like state and he lowered the gun, slipping the safety back on and he turned away from the carnage, walking beside his friend, leaving the apartment to join the young man who had driven him here.

“Alright John?” Ace asked tentatively, standing with John’s rucksack at his feet.

“All good Ace,” John gave a little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’ll live.”

The young man looked relieved, and offered his hand to his godfather.

“It’s been good working with you Uncle John – maybe if you’re in Europe again and need a driver?”

“Where are you going?”

“Heading home. Job done, your friends are here now. Time I got back to my studies!”

John, still clasping the young man’s hand, pulled him into a bear hug.

“Thanks Ace, I really couldn’t have done it without you. I wish there was more I could do than just let you head off alone.”

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Suddenly the boy looked far wiser than his years. “With your blessing I plan to dine out on this story for months to come.”

John laughed.

“Go ahead, just remember one thing though….” He paused and Ace looked puzzled. “Exaggerate. Just like your dad, you’ll convince everyone that you’re the hero!”

With a laugh and a wave, the young man turned and left.

Sally and Greg, who had been standing back and listening to this exchange moved now to stand one on either side of the Baker Street boys.

“You would have killed her?” Greg asked.

John turned and looked at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I mean,” The police officer added. “You didn’t come all the way over here just to wing her and let the locals take her, did you?”

Glancing first at Sally and Sherlock, John turned back to Greg.

“No, I came over here to ask her to dance!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Librarywitch for the last line :)


End file.
